


A Different Kind of Shootout

by Enednoviel



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-10
Updated: 2010-10-10
Packaged: 2017-10-12 13:44:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/125491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enednoviel/pseuds/Enednoviel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Never give the guys water pistols or toy guns. It can only end in a mess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Different Kind of Shootout

  
"Starsky?"

Hutch stepped through the entrance of the apartment he had been sharing with Starsky for several months now. The sight that greeted him made him drop the heavy grocery bags on the next available surface he could find. Which wasn’t easy, because the whole apartment was a mess. His hand instinctively went to his side where his Colt Python was safely tucked under the leather jacket, fearing the worst.

It looked as if a whirlwind, no, a _tornado_ more like it, had swept through the living room, leaving scattered clothes pretty much everywhere. One pair of pants had obviously landed on his beloved _Ficus elastica_ , severing two of the beautiful leaves before sliding the way down to the floor. Hutch cringed inwardly at the sight.

However, the worst thing was probably the huge stain on the carpet next to the couch. That caused Hutch to miss a heartbeat, albeit for only a second. Hutch thanked all the gods he could think of that it obviously wasn’t blood, but something else he couldn’t identify yet. He moved over to the living room table and found it littered with knick-knacks and some accessories left over from their stint as cowboy actors. Somehow, Starsky had talked the prop guy into letting them keep their costumes as a souvenir. Hutch had almost forgotten about it, but now the two gun holsters and the hats were resting on the table, and on top of the pile were two brand new, accurate replicas of vintage western revolvers. Hutch picked one of them up and realized that they were made of plastic, surprisingly heavy - and wet. Water pistols, he mused. Not like the tiny ones for kids, but huge and looking very real. And someone obviously had been playing around with them, making a mess of the living room carpet.

The door to the bedroom was ajar and Hutch heard that special someone, in the form of his curly-headed partner, rummaging through the contents of their closet.

Irritated, Hutch opened the door and promptly got caught in the tangles of a flying sweater that landed on his head.

"STARSKY!"

Starsky, who had his arms full of clothes, whirled around and dropped his burden on the floor, facing his partner with an icy stare.

"Ah, so you’re home at last, _Hutchinson_ ," Starsky grumbled, obviously in a very foul mood.

 _Uh-oh_.

"Hey, I just bought some groceries. Didn’t we want to make lasagna tonight?" Hutch flashed his bright smile at Starsky, trying to lighten the mood.

Starsky glared at him. "Don’t gimme that, Blondie, it doesn’t work."

With that he turned around, digging through the contents of the closet again.

Hutch tried to calm his rising temper. "Starsky, what the hell are you doing? It looks like someone dropped a bomb in here!"

"Oh yeah? Says the man whose picture would appear under the encyclopedia entry for ‘slob’."

For a moment, Hutch stared at his partner in shock and then snapped, "Now wait just a minute..."

"Ever since we moved together, I can’t for the life of me find anything in this apartment anymore. You know something, Hutch? I am sick and tired of your mess!"

Starsky continued grabbing their clothes and throwing them in Hutch’s general direction.

Ducking the textile missiles, Hutch raised his voice.

"Oh really? You never complained to me before! Which brings me back to my question, what are you doing and what’s with the sudden outburst?"

Starsky turned around and awarded his partner with another piercing glance.

"What do you think I’m doing? I’m looking for something," he snarled.

"So I see! And would you care to explain to me _what_ exactly you’re looking for?"

Starsky stopped throwing shirts and underwear for a moment.

"I’m looking for our cowboy costumes," he said in a dangerously quiet tone.

Hutch gasped in surprise. "And what for Pete’s sake would we need these for?"

Starsky fierce look intensified even more.

"I _knew_ it. You forgot."

"Forgot what?" Hutch was finally reaching the limits of his patience, but immediately felt guilty when he saw the brief look of hurt and disappointment passing over Starsky’s handsome features. He hated that look. Especially when he was the cause for it. Then his partner’s expression quickly changed into grim anger again.

"Yep. You forgot it, alright," Starsky laughed bitterly and dropped the rest of the shirts he was still holding. "Damn you, Hutch!" He stormed by his flabbergasted partner and disappeared into the living room.

Hutch remained standing in the door, desperately trying to remember what he had forgotten.

And then it hit him.

_The charity costume ball. Holy shit._

Hutch felt as if someone had punched him. He really had forgotten.

The last months had been hard on him and his partner. Starsky was doing great, his recovery making progress, but painfully slow. Starsky still wasn’t cleared to return to active police work and sitting at home had slowly driven him mad. So Starsky had come up with the idea to do some charity work. Hutch had had mixed feelings about this idea, afraid that this would sap the energy Starsky needed so much for his recovery. But, after several weeks, the haunted look on Starsky’s features had disappeared, replaced by satisfaction and even a faint hint of happiness. Lately, Starsky had spent most of his time with the kids at Terry’s school. Starsky and some of the teachers had organized a costume ball to collect money for the school and Hutch had promised he would join and help them. His partner had been babbling for weeks about it. And now that it was only two weeks away, Hutch simply had forgotten about it. He could kick himself. No wonder his partner was mad at him.

He followed the trail of his righteously furious partner into the living room, where he found him brooding on the couch. Hutch could have sworn to see a gloomy cloud hanging over the dark, curly head.

Hutch tried to find the right words to make it up to Starsky, trying not to feel like a miserable, rotten bastard.

"Come on, Starsk, I’ll help you find them."

"No, thanks," came the grumpy reply.

For a moment, Hutch just watched his brooding partner, trying to think of something that could break Starsky's foul mood. Then his gaze fell on the water pistol replicas. He grabbed one of them.

"Hey, where did you get these? They look great!" he said in a coaxing tone.

"Toy shop around the corner. We can hardly take our real guns, right, _partner_?" Starsky threw him a glance that could have easily wilted one of Hutch’s plants.

Hutch winced, but held his ground. "And you couldn’t resist testing them, right?" Hutch asked, gesturing to the mess on the floor.

That one hit home and now it was Starsky’s turn to look guilty. At least a little bit.

"I filled them with your watering-can and then dropped it."

Hutch looked under the table and saw the _corpus delicti_ still lying there in the wet stain. He instantly knew what had happened. In his typical childish enthusiasm, Starsky couldn’t resist playing around with his new toys, but the still limited mobility of his left hand had caused him to drop the watering-can. No one said it, but they both knew.

Hutch raised his head and, finally, they looked at each other; Hutch pleading forgiveness and Starsky returning his gaze with a sadness that pierced the blond man’s heart.

Hutch stood up straight and studied the toy gun in his hand. It was heavy, still full of water.

Then, out of pure instinct, he aimed the barrel at his partner’s face.

And squeezed the trigger.

The surprisingly strong jet of water hit Starsky full in the face. He disbelievingly looked at Hutch, water dripping from the tip of his nose.

When Hutch saw the utter shock on his partner’s face, he couldn’t help it.

He started giggling.

For a moment, Starsky stared at his partner with sparkling eyes. But the sparkle wasn’t caused by anger anymore. "Why you..." he yelled, grabbed the second toy gun and jumped up.

And then hullabaloo broke loose.

The two men were chasing each other around the apartment with the toy guns, trying to hit each other’s faces as much as possible, spitting and sputtering, with Starsky trying to duck and Hutch rolling over the floor. When no water was left in their respective guns’ chambers, they were soaking wet and ended up collapsing in a heap on the floor, limbs entangled and both giggling hysterically, trying to catch their breaths.

Starsky was lying on his back, panting helplessly, trying to wipe the moisture out of his face and hair, mingling water with tears of laughter.

Hutch bent over him, laughing, water dripping from his hair into Starsky’s face.

"Hey, watch out, Blondie!" Starsky protested.

Hutch watched his partner silently till the laughing fit was over. His expression became serious.

"I’m sorry, Starsk," he said softly.

Starsky didn’t answer, just studied the beloved face over him. He raised his hand and tenderly brushed the wet hair out of the other man’s face. Hutch closed his eyes and savored the flimsy touch, sending shivers down his spine.

Starsky withdrew his hand and slowly got up, walking over to the couch, more falling than sitting down.

Hutch got up and sat down beside him.

"So, my ‘mess’ wasn’t the real reason for this tantrum, right?" Hutch stated the obvious.

"No." Starsky answered quietly.

"I’m sorry, Starsk. I really am. I shouldn’t have forgotten. I know what this means to you. I can be such a dick sometimes." Hutch fell silent, not knowing what to say to make amends.

The silence stretched on for a painful moment. Suddenly, a smile lit up Starsky’s features. Hutch felt the dark blue eyes resting on him and then Starsky replied, "You got that one right, partner."

They both looked at each other and started laughing again. "Well, thanks, _pal!_ " Hutch snorted.

"So, what are we going to do now?" Starsky chuckled.

"Well, we should change into some dry clothes for starters," Hutch replied, by now painfully aware of his shirt sticking uncomfortably to his body.

"Oh really? There’s enough lying around. Just reach out and pick something."

Which made them break out into hysterical giggles again.

When the laughter had ebbed away, Hutch got up and fetched two towels. He dried his own dripping hair first and then knelt down in front of his partner. He took the second towel and attended to Starsky’s wet curls. Starsky watched him intently, but didn’t move.

Hutch threw the towels aside and smoothed some of the still damp curls. His hand traveled down over Starsky’s face, lingering on his cheek, wandering down his neck and finally finding the buttons of the other man’s clammy shirt. Hesitating, he looked up and only found his own tenderness mirrored in Starsky’s eyes.

Finally, Starsky reached out for Hutch, pulling him close into a tender kiss.

The kiss lingered on, both men forgetting their anger and guilt, just savoring the moment and the presence of each other.

When they finally parted, Hutch asked huskily, "Does that mean you forgive me?"

Starsky smiled. "On one condition."

"Which is?"

"I can bring my whip along with the cowboy costume and make good use of it when I get you alone," Starsky said, underlining his comment with a suggestive wriggling of his dark eyebrows.

"Only in your dreams, Starsk. Only in your dreams," Hutch breathed and silenced Starsky’s chuckle with a passionate kiss.

Fin


End file.
